


Commando

by Sorran



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Rickyl Writers' Group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:46:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorran/pseuds/Sorran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl lends Rick a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commando

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MermaidSheenaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/gifts).



> A little gift to [Mermaid Sheenaz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidSheenaz/pseuds/MermaidSheenaz), to say thank you for being a brilliant beta and a great listener. :) You are much appreciated. <3

“Rick?” Daryl raps the hilt of his knife against the frame of Rick’s cell door in a perfunctory knock.

Rick looks up from the pile of clothes he’s sorting through. “Hey, Daryl.”

Daryl half steps into the cell. “You got any clean underwear left?” he asks, voice lowered for Rick’s ears only.

“Why, you out?” Rick laughs.

Daryl gives him a narrow-eyed look. “Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t, would I?” he points out.

“Guess not”, Rick agrees. He turns to the pile of clothes on his bed and starts digging through it, but then stops and turns back to face Daryl with a sly grin. “Does that mean you’re going commando right now?”

“Yeah, an’ it’s chafing something awful”, Daryl grouses. “So you got clean pants or not?”

“I might”, Rick concedes, his grin turning even toothier. “What’s it worth?”

Daryl’s eyes turn to mere slits. “How ‘bout I won’t put a bolt in your ass”, he growls, but Rick just shakes his head and laughs.

“You ain’t gonna do that anyway. We’re out of antibiotics, and you know it.” He shakes his head again. “No deal.”

Chewing on his thumbnail in annoyance, Daryl looks him up and down, and then he drops his hand to show Rick a toothy grin of his own. “I could give you a hand with that tent you’re pitching there”, he offers smugly.

“Deal!” Rick says, and before Daryl can move a muscle Rick has grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him all the way into the cell and closed the privacy curtain behind him for good measure.

Daryl’s protest is silenced as Rick mashes his mouth against Daryl’s to kiss him hungrily.

“Eager much?” Daryl smirks when Rick finally lets him up for air, but he doesn’t lose any time walking Rick back against the wall either, one leg between Rick’s, pressing into his groin with every step.

“Very much”, Rick growls, utterly unashamed, grinding down on Daryl’s thigh with a guttural groan.

Using his bodyweight to keep Rick pinned to the wall, Daryl fumbles Rick’s belt buckle open between them, then slides one hand under Rick’s shirt and the other down his pants.

Rick bucks into his grip with a hiss, hands coming up to grab Daryl’s shoulders for leverage as he starts fucking into Daryl’s fist.

There’s no finesse to what they're doing; it won’t be long until someone comes looking for Rick, and even though people respect the privacy curtain, they’ll still be interrupted. They both know it, so Daryl doesn’t bother teasing, stroking Rick hard and fast instead, just the way the other man likes it, while Rick chases his pleasure with single-minded focus.

It’s over within minutes, Rick spilling over Daryl’s hand, muffling his hoarse cry against Daryl’s collarbone. He keeps his grip on Daryl’s shoulders while his breath evens out, and Daryl is happy to give him time to come down, his hand still cradling Rick’s softening cock inside his pants.

Once Rick’s fingers ease off of his shoulders, Daryl withdraws and looks around for something to clean up with. Following his gaze, Rick blindly snatches an item from the pile of clothes on his bed and throws it to Daryl, picking up another for himself. Daryl catches the material and starts wiping his hand when a strangled noise from Rick makes him look up.

“What?” he asks, unable to connect the look of growing horror on Rick’s face to anything in their immediate surroundings.

“That’s my last pair of clean boxers you’re wiping your hands with”, Rick explains weakly, following it up with a heartfelt: “Fuck.”

For a second Daryl looks at the come-stained material in his hands, then he wads it up into a ball and tosses it at Rick. “Guess we’re both going commando today”, he smirks.


End file.
